


Diamond City Depravity: Myrna

by masseylass



Series: Diamond City Depravity [1]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Grinding, Kinktober, Kinktober 2019, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Sex on Furniture, Sexual Humor, Shameless Smut, Smut, Vaginal Sex, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 18:23:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21040718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masseylass/pseuds/masseylass
Summary: Valentine and Nate need to solve a murder case, but Crazy Myrna refuses to talk to synths. Nick leaves his partner to do some solo, human on human "investigating."





	Diamond City Depravity: Myrna

**Author's Note:**

> This is a standalone story, but if you'd like to read about this sad interpretation of Nate and his kinky adventures, check out my other Diamond City Depravity stories. Some lewd crap, man.

Back before the war, before the bombs, before Nora and Shaun, I lived in a little house with my mom. Mom would tell me to clean my bedroom before dinner. After spending an hour slaving away over the stove, she’d come upstairs only to find that, while none of my toys had been picked up, I had rearranged all of my furniture to “look cooler.” 

Cut to 2288, a year after leaving cryostasis. 

I opened my eyes. The bottle of whiskey tumbled from my hand onto the floor. Its clatter gave me a little start and I stirred, sitting upright and pinching the bridge of my nose. Urg. Why was I asleep in my workshop? Oh, that’s right; I went to go clear out some rubble and bought a couch from Crazy Myrna instead. And to celebrate getting a new couch, I popped open a fresh bottle of whiskey. And to celebrate getting through a good portion of that bottle, I had myself a nice, little sleep. Now it was noon the next day.

The fuck was wrong with me? I didn’t need a couch. I had a couch. It was in my living room. My living room, kitchen, restroom, hell, the entire rest of Home Plate looked fine. All I needed to do was haul the cinderblocks and traffic cones out of that god-forsaken hellhole and actually _do_ something with the space. But nooo. Idiot me decided to rearrange furniture instead. Sorry, Mom, God rest your soul.

I peeled myself off of the couch. Fake leather. My ass stuck to it like a bandaid and snapped apart with a noise to match. “Ow!” I glanced over my shoulder. My entire cheek was bright red. Suddenly, three brisk knocks came from the door. 

A trail of clothes led out of the workshop and into the living room. I picked them up like they were part of Hansel and Gretel’s breadcrumb trail, slipping into each article piece by piece until I was dressed in my underwear, jeans, and flannel shirt. Just as I slid the shirt over my frame – was I putting on a few pounds? – another couple of knocks erupted. 

“Coming, coming! Jesus!” I shouted mid-yawn, clasping a hand over my face. Oof. I needed to shave. I padded into the living room, slicked back my brown hair, and went to open the door. It opened on its own before I got the chance. 

A tall man with glowing eyes appeared in my living room, shutting the door behind himself. He was exactly my height, although his hat made him look taller. He took one look at me and raised a brow, or lack thereof.

“The hell aroma is that?”

“Lethargy.”

“Ah. Thought it smelled familiar. Rough night I take it?”

I placed a hand against my shoulder and rotated it, working out the kink I got during the night. “Eh, stayed up late doing some spring cleaning.” 

“That so?” he asked, taking a moment to size me up. I tried my best to keep a poker face, but he saw right through me. He walked over to the demolished wall and peered from my living room into the horrendous pile of salvage, if you could even call it that. I wanted to stop him, but my hangover convinced me it wasn’t worth it. Eh, he would have seen it sooner or later. 

“All you did was get a couch,” he pointed out.

“Wow. You really are a detective.”

“And you really are a smartass.” He glanced over. Now it was his turn to fail at using his poker face. His lips twitched and he almost smiled. The old synth was amused. “Anyway, you ready to get going? This case isn’t going to solve itself.”

By no means was I ready, but Nick was right. It was already noon. He waited for me at the noodle stand while I cleaned up, had a shave, and slipped into my own detective’s coat and hat. There. That was better. We had breakfast – meaning I had some Power Noodles and he had a smoke – and then we set to work on solving ‘The Case of the Murderous Screwdriver.’

“I hate when you call it that,” said Valentine.

“I mean, that drifter _did_ get stabbed in the heart with one.”

Nick opened up the file and slid it my way just as I was slurping up my last noodle. Looks like my partner managed to dig up some info on the guy. Good. We didn’t have much to go on yesterday when we found his corpse on that mattress over by Shane Kowalski’s. I looked over the file. One look at the guy’s name and I choked on my noodles. 

“What’s so funny?” asked Nick.

I slid the file back over, laughing, and tapped my finger over the name of the deceased. The synth read it.

“Phillip. Huh.”

“How ironic is that?” I giggled.

“It’s not,” explained Nick. “Now, if our pal Phil here was a craftsman, and trained other craftsmen in tool-safety, dying by way of screwdriver would be ironic. Some joe named Phillip meeting a flat-headed fate is just a coincidence.”

At that point I had stopped laughing. “Wow. You must be fun at parties.”

Nick shrugged.

I tipped the bowl back and finished off my broth. “Besides,” I said, setting it down with a clink, “a phillips and a flathead are totally different tools.”

“True, but ‘flat-headed fate’ has a certain ring to it.”

“Just figured the guy packin’ a screwdriver would know.” I paused and gasped. “Valentine! Are _you_ the murderer?!”

“The synth at Kowalski’s with a screwdriver? Feels derivative.”

-

“Oh no!” shouted the jumpy shopkeeper, ten minutes later. “I already told you, I don’t sell to synths!”

“We aren’t in the business of buying today, Myrna,” explained Nick, calm as ever. “A man is dead, and my partner and I need answers. It’s the least we can do to make sure he’s laid to r-”

“You probably killed him!” she cried. “Or-or-or another synth! You watch! Someone who looks just like him will turn up tomorrow, because the Institute replaced him!”

“Why would the Institute send a synth to kill another synth?” I asked, completely unable to suppress the smile on my face. Myrna was like a Vault-Tec lunchbox; you never know what you were gonna get.

“Oh, go ahead and laugh, but who’s gonna be laughing when the Institute comes to replace you? Not you! Because you…you…you’ll be **replaced!**

I smiled wider. “Love that shirt, Myrna. Really brings out the fire in your eyes.”

“Stop,” whispered Nick, before speaking loudly enough for Myrna to hear him. “Aright, Myrna. I’ll go home. But will you please talk to my partner here?”

“Maybe, if you _leave!_” she spat. 

Valentine nodded. “Alright,” he said at a low volume. “You know what to do. I’m trusting you on this. You don’t need me to tell you not to get her riled up. Once she starts…”

“I thought you were leaving!”

Nick held his palms out in surrender, one made of fake skin and the other a metal skeleton. He backed away and gave me one, final look of warning. _You don’t need me to tell you not to get her riled up…_ His words played over and over in my head. Alright. The ball was in my court now. I could do this. 

I took a deep, long breath, approached the counter, looked Myrna right in the face and said, “You could be a synth too, and you’d never, ever know it.”

“Uh, I am NOT a synth!” she defended. “If anyone here’s a synth, it’s you!”

“Nuh uh,” I said like a three year old. “You are.”

“No, YOU are!”

“No, you.”

“No, you!”

“Nuh uh.”

“Yuh huh!”

“Myrna, you sold me a shitty fucking couch. Which scrapheap did you pull that lice-riddled piece of junk out of? My back feels like shit.”

“Hey!” she hissed, “None of this is scrap! Maybe you just have a bad back, old man.”

I laughed out loud. “Old man? Myrna, I’m -” 

Thirty three. I was thirty three. Wait. When did I turn thirty three? I mean, I wasn’t old. But how young was Myrna? I scrutinized her. She looked prim and proper in that collar shirt of hers, but I think it made her look older. She didn’t have many wrinkles, not even on her forehead from glowering all the time. She had a cute, button nose and dark, almond-shaped eyes. I’d been in Diamond City a little over a year, and in that time, her hair changed from varying lengths of short to shorter. She was like a pixie. A really spicy, little pixie.

“Old?” she interrupted, and folded her arms across her chest. That little smile on her face told me she’d won. Eh, who was I to argue?

“Yeah. I’m old.”

“Cool. So, you gonna do some shopping or what? I’ll give you a senior discount.”

The next time I smiled it was genuine. I considered myself witty, seconded only to a certain synth detective, but damn if that wasn’t a good burn. I gave a small laugh and said, “Sure, Myrna. Let’s see what you got.”

I took my time, asking her to let me take a look at this thing over here or that thing over there, trying to search for any blood-covered screwdrivers that might crop up. Okay, maybe it wouldn’t have been that obvious, but maybe one of them would smell like bleach or something? Man, I wished Valentine was back. God only knows why he made me his partner. I was a dumbass.

She set a box on the counter. Teddy bear: nope. Toy truck: negative. Fifteen military grade circuit boards. Two desk fans. A Giddyup Buttercup leg. Seven thingies of irradiated material.

“Jesus, Myrna, who supplies you with this junk?”

“My supplier is none of your business.”

“Is this a bread box? Filled with burnt magazines?”

“Oh, gimme that.” She snatched it and gave it a few, good shakes. Old papers fluttered all over the place.

I kept browsing. More weird shit, more weird shit, and oh, wouldn’t you know it, _more_ weird shit! I audibly groaned, pushing a toy alien aside when I paused. My eyes widened. “Is this?” I grasped it firmly in my hand, pulled it out, and pressed the button. It sprang to life, whirring under my hold. Oh my god. It still worked. After all these years, it still worked. God bless fusion energy.

“How much?” I asked.

Myrna shook another loose paper out of the bread box and tucked it under her arm. “For that? Eh. You can just have it.”

I shook my head as though I couldn’t believe what I’d heard. Because I didn’t. I didn’t effing believe it.

“Myrna, you sell broken typewriters for more than I make in a day, but you’re just _giving_ this to me?”

She shrugged. “I don’t even know what it is.”

“It’s a vibrator, Myrna.”

“A what?”

“It’s a -”

“HEY! I thought I told you to scram!”

I turned around, wand in my hand. Nick looked like he was about to say something to Myrna when his eyes traveled to what I was holding instead. The old synth grimaced. “Do you even know where that’s been?”

“No. Why, do you?” I retorted with a half-smile.

Nick looked appalled, offended I’d even asked. “You’ve been at it so long I thought I’d come check in, but it looks like you’re busy.”

I held my hand out. “Hold this while I grab my wallet?”

I had never seen Nick move so quickly in my life. Just as soon as he appeared, he was retreating back into the crowd. I wondered if he’d ever come back after that.

“So, like I was saying, it’s a vibrator. A wand. It’s for…” I moved the purple object toward my crotch, not actually touching, but making my point loud and clear. I was sure that Myrna would never sell to me again. But boy, would the look on her face be worth it.

Her dark eyes shot wide open and her mouth made an O. “_That’s_ what that is? I thought it was a weird hammer.”

I snickered and shut it off, setting it back on the counter. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, I dunno, I thought maybe the vibrations loosened up the nails or something.” I raised an eyebrow. “Hey, I just sell stuff, okay? Doesn’t mean I know what any of it does. Not that I’m stupid…” She looked away a little sheepishly.

It was actually pretty endearing. Well, as funny as it was, I didn’t actually want the thing. Maybe if I had a more regular partner to use it on or something, but aside from the quick Goodneighbor lay, I was flying solo. And since Myrna didn’t even _have_ a screwdriver for sale, I guessed I’d better go catch up with Valentine.

“Alright, Myrna. You enjoy that hammer of yours. I’d better get -”

I stopped. My insides twisted like an angry, old woman wringing out a wash cloth. I actually bent at the middle, it was so intense. I put my palms on the counter and steadied myself, tilting my head down and taking a sharp breath.

“What?” asked Myrna.

“Nothing. Need a sec,” I hissed through gritted teeth. Man, whiskey and Power Noodles were a bad combo. 

Finally, the pain eased up, at least enough for me to unfurl myself from Myrna’s shop. She eyed me suspiciously, but seemed alright enough to start putting her boxes away. I exhaled. Alright. Cool. Good to go.

Just as I turned to walk away, the pain was back tenfold. “Let me use your bathroom!” I exclaimed.

“What?!”

“Myrna…” I pleaded, clutching my stomach. “I’m a loyal customer. Please.”

Come on, Myrna, I thought. Home Plate was all the way over there, but Myrna’s toilet was right there behind the counter inside her house. 

“I dunno…” she mused, eyeing me up and down as though I were not about to shit my pants.

“Are you worried I’m a synth? I’m not! I promise you Myrna! The Institute would never engineer somebody capable of doing what I need to do to your toilet! Behemoths maybe, but not synths!”

She blinked, sighed, and finally, nodded. “Alright. Let me get the door. But make it quick.”

Ho. Lee. Shit. That worked? That _actually_ worked? Thank god it did. Myrna held open the door and I barreled past her like my life depended on it. I scrambled for her bathroom, flung the door closed, and sat down without a second to spare.

My life flashed before my eyes. I saw Nora. Shaun. That little stain in the back of the Corvega from when Nora and I _made_ Shaun. Never could get that thing out. Just plopped that kid’s car seat right over it and pretended it didn’t exist. I saw my old dog. I saw Codsworth shining with no rust on his frame. I saw it all.

Whew. That was intense. I reached for the toilet paper, ready to finish up when my stomach cramped up and I squeezed my eyes shut. “Oh no…” I whined, and it happened all over again.

This time, I saw into the future. Travis the Ghoul was sitting in the middle of the Glowing Sea, only it wasn’t the Glowing Sea. His raspy radio voice spoke into the microphone. “Hey out there, ghouls and boys, this is Travis _Really_ Lonely Miles, coming to you barely-alive from Diamond City Crater. Today marks the one year anniversary of the explosion, the day Myrna gave her life just so that our once-loved vault-dweller could take a dump. As you all know, I’m the only one who survived the explosion. Only you don’t know, because you’re dead. Because the vault-dweller killed you. With his ass.”

A half hour later, I staggered out of the bathroom looking like I’d lost a war. Myrna was counting caps at her table. I didn’t hear Percy whirring around anywhere, so I guessed he was manning the stall.

“Can I lie down?” I asked, and flopped onto her couch without waiting for an answer.

“Uh, I guess so?” she answered anyway. 

I closed my eyes. Good lord. I wanted to die. Just shrivel up and die. I was so embarrassed, and my poor, poor ass evidently couldn’t handle whiskey and ramen. At least not in those quantities. 

“Sorry,” I apologized. “Can I just have five minutes?”

“Eh, sure,” she relented. “Since I know you’re human now.”

Seriously? I was joking before. But after taking a whiff of the air, I guess I couldn’t blame her. The Institute was evil, but _that_ evil? Even if they wanted to be, I don’t know if science had advanced enough to create that particular caliber of biowarfare.

“Thanks,” I said, resting my hand across my middle and relaxing. 

Man, I was such an asshole for making fun of Myrna. She was just afraid like the rest of us were. A little jumpy, sure, but who wasn’t these days? Besides, I empathized. I still had nightmares. About my wife, lips frozen in that dark vault; about Shaun, morphing from an infant into a withered, old man; about Sanctuary, pristine one minute and up in flames the next. I wasn’t the only one haunted in that terrifying wasteland. Sometimes I forgot that. And being the asshole I was, instead of apologizing, I fell asleep.

I woke up to the sound of my alarm going off. My hand reached out of its own volition, attempting to slap the big button on top of my Wakemaster. Only it wasn’t the clock. I blinked. 

Myrna was sitting in the same, old chair, and the noise wasn’t a clock at all: it was the vibrating wand she had in her hands. She was leaning over with her legs spread open, flipping the thing over and over in her hands like she was working out which end went where.

“Need a hand?”

“NO!” she shouted reflexively, shutting off the power and tossing it onto the table. 

“You sure? Not like it comes with an instruction manual.”

“Well, maybe I can salvage one from somewhere.” She paused. Then, she glanced over at me. “Why? You know how to work this thing?”

“Eyup.”

“And you want to show me? Creep.”

True. I was a creep. And I wasn’t going to stick around and be a creep anymore. Myrna said no. Besides, I had well overstayed my welcome. I didn’t mean to crash like that, regardless of how much better I felt. 

I hoisted myself up off the couch and rotated that achy shoulder of mine. “Well, thanks for the nap, Myrna. See you next time.” I headed for the door. Time to go meet up with Nick. He was probably wondering what was taking me so damn long.

“Wait!” 

I paused. Myrna took the wand and flicked the switch back on. Then, she held it out for me to take.

“What?” I laughed. “Myrna, come on. I was kidding. You aren’t serious?”

She didn’t answer me, just kept on holding out that big, purple toy. Her eyes were curious, apprehensive. 

“Oh. You are serious.” 

I thought about it for a long, hard minute. This was Myrna we were talking about. Crazy Myrna. She was the most anxious person I knew in Diamond City. Sure, everyone was afraid of the Institute, but Myrna was next-level. Every little noise, every little movement freaked her out. And here she was, holding out this sex toy so I could, what? Use it on her? Ha! Ha ha ha!

Actually no wait that was fucking hot.

I snagged it from her. “Alright, but you’re afraid of everything so we’re using a safe word. Capiche?”

Jesus, who even said capiche anymore.

“What’s a safe word?”

Oh no. She couldn’t be serious. But I knew she was, because Myrna was always serious. I inhaled sharply. “A safe word is a word you say when you want to stop.”

“Can’t I just say stop?”

“Unless you think screaming ‘stop’ is hot. Some people are turned on by that.”

“Well I’m not, so I’m gonna just say stop when I want you to stop.”

“Safe word is stop, then. Creative.” I rolled my eyes. “Alright, so, uh…” I glanced down. She was still seated with her legs slightly spread, fully clothed. Man, this was weird. Anyone else and I would have been all for this. But Myrna? Couldn’t have been more awkward if I tried. I assumed she had only ever had very vanilla sex, so I was afraid to try anything crazy. “You want this, right?” I confirmed.

“Yeah. I asked, didn’t I?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“Holy shit just do it already!” 

Myrna jerked my hand toward her in a hard, sloppy motion. I ended up punching her in the torso. Not hard, but enough to feel like a jerk. Myrna was fine with it, though; she got that it was an accident. She just sat there and waited for me to do something.

First, I studied the wand. It was big, long, and purple, with a series of buttons on the side. It was about an inch and a half wide on the narrow end, and the ‘wand’ end, of course, was quite large. Nora used to have one like it. I actually felt a little pang in my gut when I thought of Nora like that. We weren’t the happiest couple, but we had our moments. After Shaun was born, her sex drive plummeted; we just didn’t fuck anymore. We had a big, romantic dinner planned after my speech – the day the bombs fell – and she talked about wanting to park the Corvega somewhere and…well, it didn’t matter anymore. Now, it was just me, Myrna, and ‘The Hammer.’

I turned down the intensity. Those things always started off on the highest setting which I thought was ridiculous. Then, I got down onto my knees and gently pressed the thick end against her thigh. I had been with a lot of women, and all of them liked it when I touched their thighs. But Myrna? Expressionless. 

“Is this good?”

“Yes.” Deadpan.

Was she absolutely _sure_ she wasn’t a synth? Jeez. 

I moved the wand higher and higher, having to use my other hand to physically spread her legs apart. It was like one of those improv shows where people moved other people around like human props. Finally, I eased the end of the wand against her crotch, its vibrations pressed against her slacks.

“OAUGH!”

“AHH!” I shouted and reeled back.

“Why’d you stop?” she asked flatly.

“I? You _howled?_”

“Isn’t it supposed to feel good?”

“That was your feel-good noise? I thought a pack of ferals broke through the back door!”

“Are you gonna keep insulting me or are you gonna make me moan?”

Whatever doubts I had were erased as soon as those last words fell past her lips. This time, she spread her legs of her own volition, and I poised the wand in between them, resuming my stance.

Myrna was weird. I’d move the wand against her and she’d be quiet for five, six seconds, only for another loud wail to erupt out of her like a horny, inexperienced volcano. I had to admit though, she really seemed to be into it. The more I worked her, the more visibly aroused she became. She began writhing in her chair, shifting her hips and toying with her small breasts through her shirt. Part of it seemed mechanical, like maybe she watched some porn vid or something; but her noises sounded genuine. 

She started unfastening her shirt, button after button, before saying, “Wait.” She nodded toward the toy. Unsure of what exactly she wanted me to do, I paused and turned it off. “Thanks,” she said, and proceeded to fold her shirt. 

Seriously Myrna what the FUCK are you doing you crazy – 

She set the shirt on the table, nodded again, and said, “Okay.” I clicked the toy on and set the intensity to a setting that was a little higher than the one before it. This time, I placed the head over one of her small, supple tits. As soon as it touched her nipple – guess bras weren’t her thing – she bucked and moaned. “Fuck!” I had barely touched her. Wow. Okay, sure. Whatever. She was into tit stuff, I could work with that. 

I circled her nipple with the wand, then moved to the other one to give it the same level of attention. She pawed at the opposite breast, squeezing and bucking her hips every time I grazed her with those little vibrations. 

I looked her over while she wiggled. She was pretty, I had to admit. I couldn’t see past her crazy at first, so I guess I never realized how attractive she was. But she was. Myrna was young and spritely, with a petite frame and a teeny, tiny roll of fat that barely spilled over her pants as she sat. She had a freckle here, a little, white scar there, and small hips that moved whenever I touched her.

I burrowed the bulbous head back into her crotch and pushed it against her. Her voice was usually so high-pitched and feminine, but when I sank the wand in between her legs, she groaned like a radstag in heat.

Back in Sanctuary, before the bombs fell, Nora used to sit on the floor with Shaun and play with one of those spin-the-wheel toys, you know, with all the animals. She would take Shaun’s hand and press it against a button. The wheel would spin and it would land on a picture of a cow. The little voice box would say, “The cow goes moo!” And my wife would go, “MMMOOOOOOOO!”

Myrna sounded just like my wife mooing at my son. And as I rocked the head of the vibrator against her crotch, I realized I was beyond hope. Whatever Vault-Tec had done to me had clearly fried my brain because no one in their right mind would still be doing what I was doing to Myrna.

“Whauuughhh my pussy feels so gooooood!”

I dropped it. I dropped the toy and I laughed. Laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed. This could not be happening. This could not be real life.

“Hey! Why are you laughing?!”

“Because you sound like my wife!” I gasped, now clutching Myrna’s thighs for support. I lowered my head in between her legs and cackled, tears streaming down my cheeks. 

I couldn’t believe she just sat there and put up with me. Maybe she didn’t know what else to do. Or maybe she was really that desperate. I guessed the latter, because when I finally caught my breath and glanced up, I realized that she was soaked – absolutely _soaked_ \- all the way through her pants.

“Did…did you pee?”

“No,” she answered. “I’m horny.”

Wow. Okay. That was hot. 

“Can I take your pants off?” I asked.

“Uh, let me do that.” 

Myrna stood up. She took off her shoes, set them neatly aside, and did the same with her pants, folding them and setting them on top of the shirt. She tilted her head to the side, made a funny, little noise, and picked up the clothes, rearranging them so that the pants were now under the shirt. Then, she slipped out of her panties, which were completely ruined. Those she tossed onto the ground without a care. I didn’t understand the method to her madness, but damn if she wasn’t sexy.

“Well?” She actually tapped her foot, leaning casually on one hip.

I cleared my throat and upped the speed. Still on my knees, I held the toy in one hand and eased her hips forward with the other, introducing one to the other. I barely touched her and she wailed again. Jesus. If Valentine walked by he’d think another murder was taking place.

Myrna balled her fists up and held them at her sides. She look the liberty of thrusting her pelvis like it was some dorky dance move. “Oooaahhhh!” she moaned. 

I had to try not to laugh again, which wasn’t hard once I pulled the wand back and saw how it was covered in slick. I blinked. Glancing between her legs, I saw that her tuft of black hair was also drenched. I had never seen another woman so wet in my life. 

“A little worked up, are we?”

“Maybe.” Another flat answer.

“Do you wanna ride my face?”

“What do you mean?”

Ugh. Really? I rolled my eyes and shut the toy off, dropping it onto the ground and jerking her hips over my face. Myrna was pretty short, and once I slapped her legs apart and she spread them, she was the perfect height for me to reach up and lick her pussy.

I used the flat of my tongue to lick her from bottom to top. She audibly gasped, breath catching somewhere in her throat and releasing as a series of jagged moans once I sucked on her clit. Once I grabbed her tight ass, she caught on; she started rocking her hips. 

She may have been tiny, but her quick thrusts were getting sharper, weight relaxing, and soon she was smothering me. Mm. Just the way I liked it. Finally, Myrna and I were on the same wavelength. My tongue disappeared between her folds. She sank her hips onto my face and moaned, “I’m wet!” My cock jerked in my pants. There we go. 

I caressed her ass with one hand, using my other to unbutton myself and set right to work, jacking myself off in my jeans. Meanwhile, I clasped my entire mouth around Myrna and drew another string of moans out of her which were much deeper than her conversational voice. She thrust her hips harder and harder, my tongue slipping inside of her and back out again just to give her clit another long, hard tease. I was glad I shaved.

Finally, her weight collapsed entirely. We both went tumbling onto the dirty floorboards. I wondered if she hurt herself; that sure as shit hurt my back and that groan I made wasn’t from pleasure. But she hopped right to, saying, “I wanna suck your big dick!” 

“Kay,” I said, and pulled myself out of my pants. There was a crate a few inches away. I scooted up against it, resting my aching back while Myrna got on all fours and stuck her face between my legs.

My eyes widened. Had she…ever done this before?

She licked me like a dog, lapping away with her tongue. No hands or anything. Just her tongue. She never took me into her mouth. Never sucked me like she said she wanted to. Just licked me up and down. Not just my dick, either: my thighs, my balls, even my asshole. 

I shot up straight when she did that. Even let out a little yelp. She didn’t stop, though, just lapped and lapped like I was a big, vanilla ice cream cone. 

I wasn’t _not_ hard, but…what even?

I grabbed the wand off the ground and flicked it on, using this opportunity to tease her tits some more. “Stop, it’s distracting,” she said, and swatted it away. What the hell?

She went right back to work on my asshole, and _only_ my asshole. Now it was my turn to swat her away. “Ew. Quiddit. Gross.”

“What?” she shrugged. “You can lick my butt if you want.”

“No! What? No!” I repeated. “Jesus, Myrna, quit with the butt stuff. Be normal.”

“Ugh. Fine. Gimme your penis.”

_Gimme your penis._ That was a new one. I didn’t know what she meant by that. Did she think I could unscrew it and hand it over? What did she want? I found out when she crawled onto my lap and sank my cock inside of her so fast my head span. 

“Oh, fuck,” I groaned.

She locked eyes with me, bouncing that little ass up and down so fast that I was already on the verge of coming. Myrna: what. A. Freak.

She bounced and bounced and bounced, and my god she was wet. She couldn’t have been at it for more than a minute before my thighs were covered in her. She stopped bouncing only to rock, arcing her small hips back and forth. She was doing that thing again, the one where she got really quiet then let out a deep, needy groan.

I’m not sure what kept me going. On one hand, she was off her rocker. On the other hand, I was buried inside of her, forced to endure the push and pull of her hips. She was bringing me closer to the edge. She was like a tide, a weird, scary tide that was ebbing at my hard cock over and over until I was left panting.

Her groans were getting more frantic, hips more urgent. I reached down and slapped my fingers flat against her clit, tensing my arm and rubbing fervently at her pussy. Feeling her sheathe around me, trapped in her heat, the feel of her wet cunt…

“Gotta slow down baby.”

BABY?! NO. WHAT THE HELL NATE.

“I caaa-aaa-aaaan’t!” she moaned, tossing her head back and arching her back. 

Contrary to her imperative claim, she pulled back and shakily made her way to her feet. My hand retreated back to my erection where I gave myself a good, firm stroke. Jesus, I was covered in her, glistening in the dim light of her home office.

Myrna spread open her legs. She was breathing so hard I thought she’d faint. She reached down and pressed her index finger very, very gingerly over her clit. “Oh no,” she moaned, knees shaking. Oh…oh no…oh noooo….ohhhhh noooooo!”

My jaw dropped. Her clit bobbed, pussy clenching open and shut over and over again. She didn’t even make a sound. She just stood there, finger inert against her clit, contracting harder than I’d ever seen before. On the fourth or fifth clench, a long, viscous strand of lust was pushed out of her pussy. She stood there in orgasm, oozing onto the floor, until she was spent. Me? I just watched.

“Holy shit,” she said at last. “Wh-what _was_ that?!”

No.

Nope.

**NNNNOPE!**

That was not her first orgasm. That was absolutely, unequivocally NOT Myrna’s – 

“Did I just have an orgasm?”

I slammed the door shut behind me, retreating back to Home Plate so fast I thought I’d never catch my breath. I don’t even remember was I said to Myrna on the way out. Some bullshit like, “Well thanks, that was fun,” or, “AHHH” or something of the sort.

Knowing I had just taken her virginity felt fucking awful. I never would have went in knowing I was her first. I mean, maybe with someone else, but not Myrna. Lord only knew the next time she saw me she’d say, ‘You couldn’t come! You’re a synth!’ or something. 

But I had another problem to deal with: I was still rock hard. Despite the gravity of the situation, I was still full to bursting and there was no way I’d be able to get down to business without, well, getting down to business first. And what better way to get off than by tearing my pants off, flopping down on that new couch and humping it?

With the head of my dick resting against the cushion, I pictured anybody besides Myrna. Piper? No, I respected her too much. Darcy? God no, not again. 

No matter how hard I tried, my mind kept flashing back to Myrna. Myrna…in those wet, little slacks. Moaning when her nipples were teased. Riding me like we were about to enter a second apocalypse. 

“Myrna...” I moaned, and rubbed my wanton dick on the pillow.

My arm muscles bulged as I rocked my hips, thrusting, groaning, licking my lips in delight. That pretty tuft of hair of hers, wet with lust. Her tiny waist. The way her pussy dripped when she came. 

I was getting harder. The friction felt so damned good. I needed more. I rocked my hips down, feeling my balls press against the edge of the pillow. Oh fuck. It was building again. That poor pillow. The things I was about to do to it.

I rubbed my head on the fabric, watching a strand of precum coat its red exterior. “Mm,” I shuddered, and slid my dick through it. The rough material was so good against my hard, aching cock. I was sweating, moaning, trembling as the pillow teased me.

Its touch lingered at my head even when I pulled back, and the next time I fucked it, the feeling intensified, lingering yet again. It built and built. That was it. There was no stopping it. I was fucking my ugly ass pillow, and in my head, I was back inside of Crazy Myrna, balls tightening, ready to come in that sexy, little pussy of hers. Make her feel good. Maybe get a better discount.

“Yeah, take it Myrna, you crazy bitch!” I grunted, tensed, throbbed, and spilled all over my couch, rubbing my erection through my cum until I was left panting.

A floorboard creaked. I whipped my head over my shoulder, ready to berate Myrna for following me into my house. It was not Myrna.

The synth stared this mile-long stare, the same one I had when I saw the flash of the atomic bomb as I stood on the platform to Vault 111. It was the stare of a man who knew his entire world was over, that there was no going back. 

Nick didn’t flinch. He just turned around and left, leaving me to my shame. And ya know, we did solve the case, but it sure as fuck wasn’t that day.


End file.
